Constant
by teenage-dirtbag
Summary: One day Blair Waldorf sat next to Dan Humphrey in class, and so began a tug of war between old worlds and new.


It was after the summer vacation—a vacation filled with expensive dinners, moonlit carriage rides across Central Park, and nights and dawns with tangled limbs in bed—that Chuck started going on business trips. He delayed college for a few years to get a footing on Bass Industries, his legacy, the only thing his father trusted him enough to have. Blair wasn't happy about that, naturally, but she gave him a kiss anyway as he boarded the jet to France and he promised her a box of her favorite Ladurée macarons upon his return.

And so Chuck left for France and Blair started NYU begrudgingly, but happy.

Happy enough to sit next to Dan Humphrey at her Poetry 101 class, but not even acknowledging his presence for the whole hour of the lecture. Dan, distracted by her floral perfume and her overall presence—didn't they hate each other?—noticed her sneaking a few little love notes on her Blackberry to one Chuck Bass whenever the teacher would turn around and write on the board. As soon as the bell rang she darted up, pressed the phone to her ear, and walked briskly out of the classroom.

Dan watched her go. Vanessa was waiting for him anyway.

...

"She sat next to you?" Vanessa asked, incredulous, almost choking on her beef pastrami.

"Never said a word, but yeah." Dan affirmed.

"Don't you hate each other?" she wondered aloud.

Dan would agree, but NYU was far off from the cold stone walls of Constance Billard and St. Jude's. Instead, he shrugged and added another packet of sugar to his coffee. At the corner of his eye, he saw Blair smiling into her phone.

...

He saw the pastel box carefully placed on top of her Marc Jacobs hobo bag a week after. The ribbon was undone and the note said 'love, Chuck'.

...

Blair found her new Pucci scarf worked well as she saw Chuck off to yet another business trip to Brazil. He gave her a kiss, whispered those three words she couldn't get enough of, and promised to call once he landed. And he did, a few hours later, and she wouldn't put down the phone, not for a party Georgina was forcing her to go to, or her midterm exams tomorrow.

Coffee in tow, Dan entered the classroom, having memorized most of Keats' odes from his late night study session. He sat next to a less than stellar looking Blair, who was leafing through the book desperately. She was muttering to herself.

"Are you okay?" he asked, _finally_, after weeks of not speaking to each other.

"I'm fine," she answered, and Dan was surprised that there wasn't a hint of contempt in her voice. She was probably too exhausted to argue. Or Chuck Bass was already too venomous for both of them.

"I think you need this more than I do," he slid the coffee cup to her side as he took a seat. "It's black, but I have sugar and cream if you like."

"Thanks," she replied, and continued to leaf through the paper. "I," she faltered, as if confessing a sin, "forgot to study last night."

"Marco Bateman's party?" he asked immediately, and regretted it upon seeing a tired glare from her face.

"I was on the phone with Chuck, if you must know." She took a sip from the cup. "The investors were late and he didn't know a word of Portuguese, so—"

The teacher entered the room and their conversation abruptly ended as he handed out the papers.

...

He saw Georgina rushing to the infirmary, covered in rashes, a week later. Apparently those rare flowers Chuck had sent Blair had a huge pollen count.

...

"I guess you did pretty well," Dan whispered, seeing the big red A on her test paper. "Good thing he was lazy enough to make it an essay test."

"I'd memorized a Pablo Neruda poem when I was 14," she shared, stuffing the paper into her folder. Dan had to wonder, in between the parties and the gossiping and the shopping, how could she manage to even read a line of Neruda?

"I recited it to Nate on Valentine's Day," she smiled, and he thought they were more alike than high school had let on.

...

This time Chuck went to Tokyo, and Blair dutifully accompanied him to the airport. She kissed his cheek as he whispered those three words which make her smile. He took Japanese and flaunted it with _sayonara_, which made her laugh, but not for long, and he had to leave. Blair would not eat sushi for the time he was away.

So she settled with Italian. With Nate.

Vanessa told Dan she saw them sharing a breadstick at the nearby trattoria. "They could be friends," he reasoned, "look at me and Serena."

"Those two?" Vanessa shook her head. "Trust me. Never _just _friends."

You don't know them; he wanted to snap back at her, moody all of a sudden, when he saw a handwritten note from Blair fall off his notebook. It was adorned with an xo and a smiley face.

Apparently he didn't too.

...

The room was closed and Blair tapped her kitten heels, waiting for an explanation from the crowd that had gathered. Dan muscled (she had to admit, the boy _had_ a nice body) his way into the confusion and read the note. Blair looked at him expectantly, and they walked away together.

"Our teacher's wife ran away with the teaching assistant," Dan said.

"It said that?" Blair asked, surprised.

"No, but I heard one of the girls talk about it."

The old Blair would have seen this as a sign. The new Blair, however, settled for coffee with Dan.

...

Serena called, worried. She said Blair wouldn't come out of her room.

(Dan stifled a laugh as Serena told him Georgina tried to smoke her out.)

When Dan asked why, Serena said she didn't know. Which was why she was calling. And in her sweet, gentle, Serena voice, she begged Dan to find out. He could never say no to her, which was why he found himself pounding on their dorm room. Georgina greeted him happily and pushed him to Blair's door, hoping he could break it down.

He needn't.

He saw a beautiful silk kimono lying in the corner, wrapped in tissue paper.

"What do we do?" she asked. His mother started painting detailed portraits of his dad _too_ when it happened.

Dan sighed. "Nothing."

...

A week later Dan saw her walking across the quad, hand in hand, with Chuck Bass.

...

Blair waved calmly as she saw Chuck off; this time he was going to Australia to discuss business opportunities. He did everything right—he whispered those three words like he promised he would, kissed her like he always did, and told her to wait for his call, as always. And Blair would nod obediently.

Only her phone would be ringing on her nightstand in an empty room. She and Georgina were invited to the opening of a new club on the Upper West Side.

But she would still send him cute text messages—Dan couldn't help but look every time her hand disappeared from above the table—while at the same time commenting on the dark overtones of Poe's The Raven. A girl as smart as Blair would surely notice the irony.

And it was the best revenge she could give for now.

...

Dan saw Georgina headed for the dormitory wearing a too-small mink coat.

...

As they fixed their things in anticipation for the bell, Dan noticed a hastily written cheque inserted in between Blair's notebooks and her copy of—is she taking this class?—business statistics for economists with applied calculus. It was for a thousand dollars addressed to someone named Pete—no, he'd read it wrong.

PETA.

...

Spotted: **C** and **B** on their date night in Serendipity. Remember when they used to be interesting?

You know you love me,

xoxo Gossip Girl

...

As the months wore on, the gifts became more opulent. Jade earrings, pearl necklaces adorned with gold Bs, a haute couture dress suspiciously in the perfect size—but Blair would never wear them. She sent the earrings to her mother (which earned her a visit and an 'are you all right, darling?'), pawned the pearl necklace off and treated their whole floor to a party Dan was still too drunk to remember, and gave the dress to the only person she knew shared her size (and the only person who would use it), Jenny Humphrey.

"Is this poisoned?" Jenny asked Dan as Blair looked around the redecorated Van Der Humphrey penthouse.

"Why would you think that?" Dan chuckled.

"Are you sleeping with her?"

"Jen—"he blushed.

"Do you not want the dress?" Blair asked, her tone menacing.

"No, I-I do," Jenny stammered.

"You can cut it up if you like," she suggested, "you're into that whole homeless chic look right?"

...

"Come on, Blair, we're going to be late," Dan announced as he entered the Sparks-Waldorf dorm room. Blair walked into the den wearing a black Dolce and Gabbana dress with her favorite Manolo Blahnik heels (Dan knew, because Blair had spent one afternoon lecturing him on shoes) and even though she looked absolutely breathtaking, all he could say was,

"Aren't you a bit overdressed for a study session?" he joked.

"Chuck and I are having dinner tonight," she said simply.

He didn't move.

"Why?"

She looked away. "It's easier."

...

It certainly is, as he kissed her goodbye once again and she waved from the ground as the plane took off.

This time, she didn't even bother to know where he was going.

...

She wouldn't speak to Dan, not to comment on the professor's outfit, not to complain about taking the subway, not even a minor insult about the haircut she wanted him to have a month ago. And he understood, he would catch her quickly wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye (then she would proceed to yawn to mask it) or staring at her Blackberry a little too fondly.

Serena called every day. Georgina coaxed her with black plastic AMEX cards. Nate had Danish and coffee sent to her dorm room every Saturday morning, in homage to her favorite movie, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_.

Dan never sent gifts or showered her with sympathetic words. He only sat next to her in poetry class as usual, and next to her at lunch too, and during her tedious study sessions at the library (even if it was for business statistics for—why the hell was he even bothering to understand, his world was with words).

Blair would eat the Danish and coffee with her wayfarers _some_ Saturdays. But she never left Dan's side.

...

"Was I stupid?" she asked, finally, while the teacher was lecturing about sonnets.

"Of course not," he replied gently, "you were in love."

She smiled.

...

Dan wasn't surprised when she showed up in his dorm room that night, a box of popcorn and _Funny Face_ in tow.

He loved Fred Astaire.

...

Then Chuck was back, and Blair was, once again, wearing a tight violet Prada dress with black Louboutin heels. She was adjusting the clasps of her earrings when the reflection of Dan Humphrey behind her caught her eye. He looked weary, and angry, and sad at the same time—it was a better reflection than the skinny brunette in front of her.

"Don't go."

"Dan, please."

She called him Dan. He wanted to fling Chuck Bass back to Budapest. "You're not even wearing Blahniks," he commented. "Red soles, you only wear those when you have business meetings."

"You _do_ listen to my shoe rants," she allowed herself a smile.

"How could I _not_?" he jested. She tried walking to the door, her heels threatening to pierce Dan's old Vans sneakers, but he didn't move. She always felt so _fragile_ when she was with him—thus the cruel words and cold stares, classic Freudian defense mechanism, when all she really saw was someone better, stronger, smarter, _happier_.

"It can't end like this," she admitted. "We were supposed to be epic; we were _Chuck and Blair_—I gave up everything to be with him. Nate, plans to transfer to Yale, flirting," she chuckled the last one, even though in her head this was supposed to be the scene where the heroine makes a big dramatic dialogue. It's just that Dan was wearing the funny shirt they had picked out at one of the thrift stores she allowed him to drag her to.

He was so close he could smell the caffeine on his breath.

"Blair," he said gently, and tilted up her chin to meet his gaze. "He's not worth everything. _You_ are."

Blair smiled sadly. "Nice choice of words, Humphrey." She walked towards the door anyway. "Goodbye."

...

The old Dan would relish the exquisite pain of unrequited love and would write bitter poems about it. The new Dan just wished he'd pulled her to him and—

He dropped the book, startled by the loud knocking on his door.

She had tiny fists, how could she have made such a noise? Blair Waldorf was standing there, barefoot, her heels in one hand and a paper bag in another. She let herself in.

"That was quick," Dan commented contemptuously. She turned around.

"I brought us dinner, and you thank me with a glare?" she raised an eyebrow. Dan closed the door.

"I thought you already had dinner," he asked. "And why are you barefoot?" The thought of her barefoot, the Upper East Side princess, was ludicrous.

"I changed my mind," she answered nonchalantly as she took the contents of the paper bag out and put them on the table. "And the shoes hurt."

He moved closer. "Blair," he said, asking for an explanation. She had the tendency to convey negative emotion passively, trained by her strict mother and years of Constance Billard. He wasn't sure if this was sadness or a nervous breakdown.

Blair pouted. "Humphrey," she said, amused, as if he had no clue at all.

She put her hands on his chest and tilted her head to the side. She was smiling; Dan didn't know if he should feel elated or worried. She always kept him on his toes guessing.

Which made kissing her all the more surprising and gratifying.

...

And oh, dinner was breakfast the next day.

...


End file.
